True Colors
by Skinnyblackgirl
Summary: A Juice/Kyra story. Newly married Kyra James thought she knew everything she needed to know about Juice when she said "I do." Little does she know, there's one more secret that could rip their world apart. Based on events in Season Four. Follows "Two Days Later." AU Juice/OC
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Hello...is anyone still there?! It's been some years since I've posted, but I have kept up with the feedback on my Kyra & Juice stories and WOW. Can't believe how many people enjoyed them! Thanks so much for the likes and reviews. They were much appreciated.**_

 _ **I needed some space from the SOA world for awhile (I didn't love the direction of the last two seasons-especially Juice's story lines), but now that the show's been over for a year, I find myself thinking about where Kyra and Juice left off and where they could be.**_

 _ **This fic is a series of short chapters, based on some of the events of Season Four-namely the reveal of Juice's real ethnicity. Chronologically, this takes place after my last story, "Two Days Later."**_

 _ **If you're new to the series, I suggest checking out Juice & Kyra from the beginning in my stories "The Sweetest Taboo" and "The Evolution of Kyra James." **_

The night she found out her husband was black, Kyra James cooked tacos.

It was end of month at Oswald Trucking, which meant she was buried in invoices. Their one-story, three-bedroom house-which was typically hotel-spotless-showed signs of clutter: her laptop bag and paperwork thrown lazily on the couch; several pairs of Juice's Nikes by the front door. After spending her day typing sternly-worded emails about expense report deadlines, she'd sent Juice a text to pick up taco shells on his way home. In their two years together, Taco Night was code for "Be glad it's not takeout."

She was standing over the stove, boiling chicken when she heard "Some shit went down today," from the kitchen table where Juice sat with a glass of Jack Daniels, neat.

Kyra sighed. "Can it wait 'til tomorrow?" When he didn't answer, she turned around. Last time she'd seen him so pale, he had a bullet in his back.

"I got picked up by that piece of shit Roosevelt today."

"For…?"

"Bullshit. Caught me leaving the weed shop and arrested me on possession. Said federal parole restrictions override my state medical card."

"So what'd he really want?"

Juice reached behind his chair to pull a Manilla folder out of his backpack. "You might wanna sit down." He opened the folder and slid it across the table. "He wanted to show me this."

Kyra studied a photo of a black man who looked old enough to be her father. "Michael Howard Cole..." she read aloud.

Juice took a deep breath and wiped his hand over his mouth. "He's my father."

"What? How—" Kyra stared at the photo, then at Juice, scanning her mind for what he'd told her about his family history. His philandering father—Alonso Ortiz—and his mother split when Juice was a teenager after Alonso beat the shit out of his mother in an argument. "Your parents' fight. He found out you weren't his son?"

Juice bit his lip and nodded.

Kyra looked down at the photo again. While she didn't see any of Michael's ethnicity in her husband's features, she recognized his puppy dog eyes. "This means you're—"

"—black. Yeah."

She leaned back in the chair and folded her arms. Why was he so worried about this? Why did the cops have this information and furthermore, what did it matter? But the most important question was how long had he kept it from her? "How long have you known about this?"

When his face dropped, Kyra understood why he was so nervous. After everything they'd been through at the onset of their relationship with his secrets, and his promises to be honest going forward, and their engagement, and their wedding, the lies hadn't stopped. She felt her skin heat up, knowing without looking that her deep caramel complexion showed patches of red. "How long, Juice?"

 _ **To be continued...**_


	2. Chapter 2

Juice rubbed his temples. He was nowhere near the worst of his news and Kyra was already incensed. "Look, I know this is a big deal to you-"

"A big deal _to me_? You lying-after you promised you were done lying-about _who you are_ is _only_ a big deal to _me_?"

Fuck. That wasn't how he'd meant it, but if he was going to tell her the truth, he couldn't let her hijack the conversation. "I didn't mean it like-. Can you just let me get everything out before you jump down my throat? I'm in really deep shit here."

Kyra crossed her arms and glared at him.

Where did he start? "I can't be black and be in SAMCRO. _No one_ knew about my father. It's why Roosevelt's using it. He wants me to rat on a cartel we run guns for."

"What do you mean you _can't_ be black and be SAMCRO?"

"It's in the by-law-"

"Stop. Just. Stop," she put her hand up. "You mean to tell me the club-the same club that admitted you as a Puerto RIcan-has a 'no Blacks' _policy_?"

"I know, I know. It makes zero sense and it's old as hell, but it's the rules."

She stood up and slammed her chair under the table. "I can't do this right now."

"Ky-"

"I get it. You're black. The club's racist. You're working with a _cartel_ and the cops are tryna get you killed. But I can't give you a hug or help or whateverthefuck right now. I need a goddamn minute _._ "

As she stormed out, she glanced at the boiling pot on the stove. "If you want tacos, I suggest you make them yourself."


End file.
